Full Travel Day 2: Travel Harder.

I’m going to use this space to bitch. You might find it entertaining; you might find it irritating. I hope it’s the former.

The plan was so simple! How could it go wrong? Get from Spain to France. I mean, they’re neighbouring countries, right? There has got to be a train connecting them! For god sakes, I went from Paris across Belgium to get to Amsterdam a month ago, I figured this was routine!

I wish you could hear how loudly the guy who worked at my hostel in Bilbao laughed when I told him that I was planning on sleeping in Marseille the following night. “Wow, never going to happen.”

“Thanks,” I tell him, “but couldn’t you have warned me about this before I booked  my hostel there? It’s less than 24 hours before my arrival, now, I can’t cancel it without giving up the first night!”

“You didn’t ask.”

Thanks, Valter. Anyhow, I already knew there weren’t any trains leaving Bilbao going straight to Spain. Though I had picked the city for it’s location, so close to the French border, when I arrived and inquired at the train station (in broken travel-Spanish) the man said that there was no way out, that I would have to take a (cheap) bus to Hendaya (in France) and that I could catch a train from Hendaya to Marseille or Nice easily.

“No problem,” I thought to myself. I looked up trains leaving Hendaya and found that I could make it to Marseille in 7 or so hours if I connected at Bordeaux. There was also an option to connect in Toulouse. The first train left at 10AM, I’d get there at around 6PM, including the connecting times.

I tell Valter, “look, I just need to get to Hendaya for 10AM.” Again, laughter. After much googling and help from a local who lived near Hendaya, we find me a bus that will take me. It left at 7:30AM every morning.

So I take the bus, triumphant and confident.
Travel total: 1 bus, 9 Euros

I get to Hendaya at 9:15 AM, almost an hour early for the 10:10 train. I walk up to the ticket booth and am pleased to (finally) hear a language I can actually understand. (Could I just segue for a moment and bitch that in every station there’s a ticket booth, an information desk and a tourist office, and each swears that what I’m asking for should be done at the other, inconsistently from city to city..? I digress.) I tell the kind lady that I’d like to find myself in Marseille that evening, and that I’ve done my research, that there should be a train leaving for Bordeaux at 10:10AM.

“Complet,” she says. “Oh,” I reply. “So… what do I do?” After much discussion, it’s decided that I catch a (free) bus to Bayonne and take a (free) train from there to Toulouse, where, she says, I will stay that night. “But.. I don’t want to stay in Toulouse.” “Well, you should have reserved in advance.” “But I was in Spain, and have a Eurail pass… you can’t reserve using a Eurail pass online in advance!” She doesn’t answer.

I find an internet cafe (the only one in Hendaya) and pay my 3 Euros to write a bitching e-mail to my girlfriend. I also look up hostels in Toulouse. 50 Euros! Not to mention I’d lose the 20 I already spent in Marseille! I cancel my Marseille reservation in the hopes of getting the money refunded. Defeated, I opt not to make any reservations and to try my luck. I take my bus to Bayonne.
Travel total: 2 buses, 9 Euros

On the bus, I had a nice conversation with a Portuguese woman who had just moved to France with her husband. It was interesting, because she spoke Portuguese and a bit of French and Spanish, and I spoke French and a bit of Spanish, and we were able to hold almost an entire conversation. (If you’re interested in how far the conversation got, it turns out that both she and her husband are truckers and that they’ve both lived all around Europe – which is odd, seeing as how she didn’t speak a word of English. She was from Porto, and had a 23 year old son. She was on the bus to Bayonne to get to the French Medicare office.)

Once at the train station, I book my way to Toulouse. She tells me that I didn’t need to book the train from Bayonne to Toulouse since it was a local regional train, and so my Eurail pass granted me access to it without reservation. We book my train (3 Euros) from Toulouse to Marseille for 7AM the following day. (I really didn’t want to spend any time in Toulouse. Valter had told me that it was  a horrible city to get stuck in.) She tells me that a full train ticket from Toulouse to Marseille that evening, a seat that’s not available for Eurail pass holders, is 55 Euros. (Wow.) I debate to myself whether it would be more worth it to pay the money that would be spent on a hostel in Toulouse anyway and try to salvage my cancelled hostel booking in Marseille, or to save the money, stay in Toulouse, and just skip Marseille altogether. I opt, again, to try my luck.

The train ride was pretty pleasant. Seeing as how I got up at 6 to catch a 7:30 bus, I took an awesome nap. I was in one of those stereotypical private little coachette rooms that I’ve only seen in the movies, but I had it almost to myself, so I could lie down on all four seats and pass out.
Travel total: 2 buses, 1 train, 12 Euros

I got to Toulouse at 5:40PM. There had been a 13 minute delay to the train, and I was at risk of missing the connection to Marseille at 5:51PM. Sure, I didn’t have a reservation, but I figured it might as well be worth at least asking to get on. I find one of those train controlling guys, you know, with the whistles, and I ask him if I can get on. He tells me to wait, and that it will probably cost me about 4 Euros. I look at the 5 remaining Euros in my pocket and smile. This is awesome news!  I might actually make it to Marseille after all! The train arrives shortly after, he introduces me to another man, and they let me onto the train.

I want to take a moment to point out that I actually only spent 11 minutes in Toulouse. It felt amazing. I had such a negative feeling towards the place that it felt great never to get out of the station. I also met this guy:
For context, this all happened the day after the Habs eliminated the Capitals. “Go Habs!” I yell, and the guy looks at me like I’m crazy. Turns out that he had been in Montreal years ago, and that he bought the t-shirt there, but that he really couldn’t care less for the team. The nerve.

Back on the train, a new man, who was clearly of a higher authority than the chubby controller guy, cracks a bunch of jokes I don’t understand and then tells me to sit down. There are three other people in my situation. He, along with a younger, newer, guy deal with them first, then the younger guy turns to me. He tells me it’s 10 Euros.

“10 Euros!?” I exclaim. I didn’t want to be ungrateful for just being let onto a train that I was clearly not supposed to be on, but I didn’t have that much money in my pocket. “I’ll have to pay with a credit card,” I say.

“No worries,” New Guy says, and so we wait for his boss to finish with the other laggards so that he can use the only credit card machine. In the meantime, I tell New Guy my story, about how I began in Bilbao, was repeatedly told that I would never make it to Marseille, and how I was so grateful that I was actually let on. He smiles.

When the boss finally finishes, New Guy has a short word with him and is given the credit card machine. New Guy takes a minute, mutters something under his breath, says to me, “C’est beau!” and walks back into his office to sit down. Was there something wrong with the equipment? I (again) in my naïveté walk into his office and ask him what’s going on. He says that he feels too bad to make me pay the full reservation fee (of 10 Euros) when it’s supposed to be only 4 for a holder of a Eurail pass. He says that I wasn’t treated properly by the original Spanish man and French lady at the ticket booths I went to, and that I had already paid over 900 Euros for my ticket, that there really was no point in making me pay any more. I thank him and walk out. I get to Marseille without a hitch at about 11 o’clock (25 minutes late).
 Travel total: 2 buses, 2 train, 12 Euros

tl;dr, I was between cities for about 17 hours, and on the move for about 12 of them. After I’ve already vowed never to have another day like this (before I got to Paris from Dublin) I go ahead and have another one. I’m not sure if it’s poor planning on my part or if the train system is poorly planned. Whatever it was, I was glad and grateful to make it.

Finding my hostel wasn’t so easy since the metros were closed (what kind of city closes its metros before 11?) but at least the walk was pleasant. Also, I didn’t lose my bed when I cancelled my reservation. Unfortunately, I lost the 3 Euros for my early morning Toulouse-Marseille train ticket, but that obviously didn’t bother me seeing as how I got to ride that very same train earlier, for free. I was just really glad to get to sleep. (I was in a 3-bed private ensuite, too! Awesome!)

Maybe I’ll tell you about Marseille tomorrow.

Bilbao, Spain

Remember this?

Since my original Madrid posting, I’ve ended up in Madrid a few times – like I mentioned, all connections go through Madrid, which is right at the center of Spain. Having to get from Granada (in the southwest) to Bilbao (in the northeast), I decided to stop for a night and get a good night’s sleep in Madrid. And I couldn’t help but go visit the creepy baby head again. (Odd thing, if you google “creepy baby head”, you get images of this statue.)

So I asked the friendly lady at the ticketbooth where I could find it, and she told me (clearly very proud of the sculpture) that there are in fact two such creepy baby heads, and that the sculpture who made them (Antonio López García) modeled them after his granddaughter. She said one symbolised day, and the other, night. Naturally, the prospect of a second giant-creepy-baby head got me excited, so I ventured out to find it. I wasn’t allowed into the area that was holding it (I didn’t have a train ticket for that part of the train) but I snatched a photo of it through the window. Enjoy:
 
Anyway (… wow, how irrelevant), here’s Bilbao:

This picture, taken on a bridge at sunset, makes Bilbao look way more beautiful than it really is. I dunno, coming from Granada… the city is much more industrial and less grand and majestic. Even the “old quarter” of Bilbao isn’t so pretty, in my opinion.

Bilbao is well known for being the home of the Guggenheim in Spain. The first thing I did in Bilbao was go see it:

The museum was designed by Canadian architect Frank Gehry. Beside this is this wicked bridge. Also, here’s an image of the museum during the daylight, with Sarah and Neto:

Sarah, Neto and I went to the beach, too. What a day!

Bilbisms

-First off, everything here is labelled “Bilbo-something.” Bilbo-bus, Bilbo-bank…

-Metro:

-The language people speak in Bilabo is Basque. It really sounds nothing like Spanish to my ears. It’s like… German or something. Really strange.

-Giant dog:

-Coach buses in Spain are odd in that the seats on them are actually numbered, like on a train. This

-In Bilbao (and the Basque country) they serve food with drinks, like the tapas mentioned in Granada. Here, though, they’re called pintxos (pronounced pinchos) instead. They’re like tapas, except they’re slightly more extravagant, you have to pay for each one (unlike tapas, which come for free with the drink) and they’re displayed on the counter in the bar like at a buffet!

-Speaking of food, I wanted to mention Europe’s infatuation with kebab (which is, basically, Schwarma). They serve it everywhere, but in Spain it’s been absolutely delicious.

-The Simpsons Cafe:

-Oh, big news – I bought shorts! AND a new t-shirt!

Also, speaking of purchases, for you haters out there, I officially left (read: forgot) my sunglasses in Bilbao. Woo. :(

Sevilla, Spain

I was in Granada for about 4 days. On the third day, Saturday, I decided to go to Seville, which is 3 hours away by train, for a day trip. As soon as I got off the train, I was immediately surprised:All over the streets were women dressed in flamenco and men riding on horses. It made me realize that I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I had actually just planned a day trip to Sevilla to see the “feria de abril” (it’s hundredth anniversary, actually!) I had no idea what it was about or what the celebration was like, only that it would be a waste not to go when I was so close. I also realized that I was going to have to settle for an extremely tainted version of Sevilla (as in, I wasn’t going to get a chance to see what Sevilla is like when there is no “feria de abril” – do people dress in flamenco all the time? Is horseback riding in the street common?)

Due to the feria, everything was either closed or free. I got into the Plaza de Espanya for free, for instance:
This is the only plaza with this name (there was one in Madrid and Barcelona, as well) whose name makes sense – all around the circle are little murals depicting individual cities. I have a picture of Barcelona, above to the right.

I walked by the university in Sevilla, which is near their main street, avenue de la constitution:

Like in almost every city I’ve been in so far, a river cuts Sevilla in half:The feria is so huge that there’s even a big chunk on the map of Sevilla dedicated to it. It’s literally labelled “feria de abril,” which I found quite shocking. Imagine this exchange:
I say, holding a map, ”Hola! Perdon – donde esta feria de abril?”
They point at the big section called ‘feria de abril’ and say “aqui,” and probably mutter something under their breath which means “dumbass.”

What happens in this mini-city, exactly? The women dress up in these fantastic outfits, frilly dresses with matching roses in their hair (like, black and white dress? black and white rose) while the men dress up in archaic suits and ride around in horses. (I’ve seen some women, in the suits or dresses, riding around on horses. I haven’t see any men in dresses, though.)

You can see in the background in these pictures that there are loads of tents (called casettas) around. Well, in fact, this is quite literally a tent city, and most if not all of the tents are privately owned – your family owns a tent, and nobody’s allowed into it unless they’re invited. They serve beer and food in them, and sometimes there’s entertainment or music playing, and they all have a bodyguard standing in front of them to kick out tourists.

You can also see the frickin’ amusement park! Ferris wheels and carnival games and the whole shebang! And they put it all up just for 5 days a year!

Some locals asked me to take a picture of them in front of the big feria-light-show-sign-thing, so I asked to get a picture with them. They were extremely entertained by my request: “a picture with ‘real spanish’ people,” they all said, and laughed.

Sevillisms

The street names in Sevilla are all like this:That is to say that the street names aren’t printed on signs as a whole but that they have individual letters and put them up to spell out the names. Basically every street is like this. I imagine that vandals have a great time with these.

-Square tree (who thinks that looks good?):

The following two are from the feria.

-A Tom and Jerry ride:
I wonder what the actual title says. Clever mouse and silly cat? Any translators? I’m not online atm. In a train. You knew that.

-A Mr. Bean ride:

I’ll admit that when I first got this far West in Spain, I had secretly wanted just to go to Sevilla to catch the feria, without even knowing what the feria was all about! My only regret is that I was never able to get a hostel for the night to see what the festivities are like in the evening. I met someone who was here the last day, and she said it was basically “bullfight, flamenco dancing and fireworks.” Sounds awesome.

Granada, Spain

Except for a part of the day yesterday (which I’ll write about tomorrow), I spent the last four days in Granada. Granada is a beautiful city built hugging a mountain. Many of the residences (I don’t want to say houses) are built in actual caves that were dug into the side of the mountain. During a tour, we were invited into one (by a jolly old man whose story-telling and hoarding reminded me too much of my father), and it was very impressive:

These caves are equiped with electricity and running water and are deathly silent.

I was joined by Sarah and Neto, a couple who followed me from Barcelona through Valencia: Well, actually, they’re the ones who convinced me to go this way, and I’m definitely glad they did.

Granada has a rich religious history (that I don’t quite remember) that involves Christianity, Islam and Judaism. In fact, there’s even an old Jewish quarter:
 
Granada was one of the cities that was evacuated during the Spanish inquisition with Morocco so close by. Probably contributed to many of the sephardic (spanish) population there.

Today, the city has a surprisingly large hippy population. No, seriously, hippies. Their presence is felt everywhere, from teterias (tea shops) to the street shops selling saris and hacky sacks, to the elaborate street art:

Even an elementary school had commissioned to be decorated by graffiti:Some of the art was pretty clever, too. Take a look at this giraffe, for one:

The main tourist attraction in the area is La Alhambra:It was described to us as Spain’s cash cow, apparently earning more money than any other tourist attraction in the country, including the Segrada Familia and the Guggenheim. (Not surprising at 15 euros a ticket…) It was worth almost every penny, though. In La Alhambra are many palaces and castles and gardens and stuff. Read on!

The first area is Charles V’s palace (or the Palacio de Carlos V):

The garden outside (the Generalife) is absolutely stunning, adorned with lilacs and fountains: 

The main attraction is the main palace, the Palacios nazaríes, which you have to pay extra to get into. I find it truly unique – the walls, arches, doorways and pillars are all… carved out of stone. It’s actually very pretty, one of the nicest things I’ve ever gone to see:

Granadisms

A. Food

- I had churros, again. Man, these were the best I’ve ever had, fresh out of the fryer:

-In Spain, traditionally, if you order a beer you’re given what’s called a “tapa". This is usually a small appetiser, either a piece of bread with  or a few meatballs with french fries or mini sandwiches. Few places I’ve been to actually did this properly. In Granada, however, they say that the food is free, that is, just buy beer and your meal is always covered.

-I had really delicious falafel, of all things. Neto’s actually never had a falafel before Granada, and from the sounds of it, he really liked it:

Ok, on to other stuff:

-Siestas: Stores. Are. Always. Closed. When the hell is siesta supposed to be? It just feels like things are closed all day long. I don’t get it, when do they make all of their money?

-Weird foosball table (where the players actually have feet):

-Dude in an Nordiques shirt:He said he doesn’t care about hockey, but a friend of his gave it to him, and he knew where it was from.

-One of the only English street signs in Granada:

-Mysteriously crooked bench:

-Oh, a good one – the little red lights on the street turn white if the light is green and red when it’s red. Very cool!

Now in Bilbao. Will tell you about Feria de Abril tomorrow! Don’t google it, please, I don’t want the surprise to be spoiled. I walked into it without knowing what to expect too!